All Things Heavy Metal
Every afternoon and evening, the dog reminds me it’s time to go.
Same route, more or less. Pavement still warm from the day. Fence posts casting longer shadows now. The world looks tired but still awake. That’s when I start noticing the metal again.
A piece of Iron sticking out of a wall, dulled by sun and grit. A scrap of wire catching light in a way it didn’t yesterday. Rust blooming on a drain cover like it’s in no hurry. These things don’t ask to be seen, but they’re there waiting, like everything else.
I don’t go out with a plan. No project, no checklist. Just a pocket camera or my phone, and whatever’s waiting underfoot or half-buried in gravel. A bracket, a screw, a bent hinge. Things that once held something together.
Most people pass by without looking down. I don’t blame them. The world’s loud. But there's something calming about spotting a piece of forgotten steel at the end of a long day. It’s solid. Honest. Doesn’t try to be anything it’s not.
The dog doesn’t care, of course. He’s got his own priorities which is mostly territorial messages on lampposts. He waits while I crouch to frame a rusted bolt or the shadow of a chain-link fence on galvanized pipe then takes a tug on the lead and i start over again recomposing. I tend to average 4 shots to 1 that don’t have panning motion. If I get one first try its a small win.
There’s no message in it. No story, really. Just the act of noticing. A pause in the rhythm. A strange kind of stillness made of metal and afternoon light.
